


It Should Rain at a Funeral

by lordavon



Series: I'd Rather Hurt Than Live Without You [10]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, Funeral, M/M, Manipulative Nathan Summers, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordavon/pseuds/lordavon
Summary: Peter makes the arrangements to bury Aunt May, still hoping Wade will reappear.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: I'd Rather Hurt Than Live Without You [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462909
Comments: 25
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Suicide.
> 
> I've been told it helps to know to read other parts of the series before this.

“Babe, I’m not complaining about the time we get to spend together, but I am starting to think something is very wrong.”

Wade looked up as Death cupped his face with skeletal fingers. “I just need you right now, sweetheart.”

She shook her head at him. “Every time the world pulls you back, you reappear nearly immediately. At most you’ve let a day pass before you are back. This isn’t normal.”

He wrapped himself around her. “Please, babe, I can’t –”

He woke up in a cave in the woods somewhere in the Rockies, screaming when he realized he was alive again. He picked up his gun, putting the muzzle to the side of his head – and hesitated.

Wade didn’t want to go back to Death and finish that conversation.

Wade didn’t want to be alive, either.

Slowly, he lowered the gun and found his backpack. A few energy bars were still left, although there were bite marks where something had tried eating through the wrapper on one of them. He ate it anyways; the worst it could do was kill him.

He made it to mid-afternoon the next day before despair overtook him and he shot himself.

_*bang*_

“Wade Wilson? Oh, no. Oh no no.”

That wasn’t Death’s voice. Wade turned around and felt shock reverberate through him. “Aunt May?” he whispered. It was May; he didn’t need her slow nod of confirmation. He ran up to her, pulling her into a hug. “I thought you were in remission.”

Her voice wavered slightly. “I don’t know.” It was expected; dead people often didn’t have a lot of recent memories. She returned his hug briefly. “Wade, what happened? Is Peter okay?”

“He’s fine! He’s alive. I’m okay, I’m not permanently dead. It’s confusing. I can’t explain it well, but I heal from anything, even death. I just come here when I die. Okay, maybe it’s not confusing and I can explain it well.”

Wade watched her ghostly form sag with relief that her nephew hadn’t been killed. “I’m glad he has you,” she said, her voice wavering. 

It felt like acid in his heart. “May… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before you died. I’m sorry I didn’t show up to see you.”

She patted his cheek. “I understand,” she said, forgiving him without hesitation even though he could tell from the look in her eyes that she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. So he hugged her again, wondering if absolution counted when the one granting it didn’t know what they granted.

He woke up in the same cave, the gun still in his hand. He shot himself right away, but by the time he’d returned to Death’s realm, May was gone.

Lady Death didn’t come to see him, either.

He sat, waiting out the time with a growing sense of dread. Peter was suicidal. One of the few things that kept him anchored to life was Aunt May. If May was dead, Peter would kill himself. Wade felt sure of this. As well, Wade knew that time here, and time alive, and time between both states, didn’t always march one to one. May could have been dead for an hour, or dead for weeks, and there was no way Wade would know.

Peter could already be dead.

Peter could be killing himself right now.

For the first time in a very long time, Wade wanted to be alive again.

By the time he breathed in air in the cave he was frantic to find out what was happening. He grabbed his bag and took off at a run for the direction he thought civilization was in. He ran for what felt like hours, not wanting to stop. He just had to be sure Peter wasn’t dead.

It did take hours before he found a trail, and the trail led to a dirt parking lot and a paved road. The road led into a little town called Gypsum which seemed too small to be real, but there was a cellular store and a tiny little airport. He bought a cell phone and then headed to the library. There, he looked up the number for the Sister Margaret’s. Stepping outside of the library, he called, tapping his fingers impatiently as the phone rang.

“Sister Margaret’s.”

“Weasel!”

There was a pause followed by a long line of swearing. “Where the fucking hell have you been?”

“Sorry, Weasel, but is May Parker dead?”

“Who?”

“May Parker!”

“I don’t know who – hang on – oh, fuck – “ There was a sudden loud clattering sound, as if Weasel had dropped the phone. Everything he heard was muted now. There was some shouting and he thought he could hear Peter, and then he thought he heard Nate, and then after about fifteen minutes of waiting with ill patience there were some scratchy sounds and Weasel’s voice. “You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Who were you asking about?”

“May Parker.”

Weasel’s laugh sounded bitter. “You have amazing timing. Yes. May Parker is dead. Her viewing hours will be in the evening tomorrow night at the assisted living facility’s religious center. Her funeral will be in two days at the same location. I am told you will know where that is.”

“I do.” Wade had to try three times to get the words out.

“Great, fucking great.” The call cut off. Presumably Weasel had just hung up on him. Wade glanced up from his phone at the tiny little town, and headed to the airport to figure out how to get a flight into somewhere that would be able to then get him a flight to New York City.

**

Peter had to admit, the assisted living facility Aunt May had been in was really first-rate.

The funeral arrangements were handled by the facility; all Peter had to do was specify times that were good for him and where she was to be buried. They handled everything else, from the announcement in the papers to the flowers for the funeral to holding the services. They had people to help him pack up his Aunt’s suite. Everyone was calm and respectful and soothing. Even the finance department helped him make arrangements and cancel the automatic billing service with quiet, competent assurances.

It felt nothing like he did. He was angry and he was miserable and he was lost. He had no one to talk to, no one to lean on. In a fit of absolute helplessness he called MJ, who spent an hour on the phone promising to fly into New York for him in between repeating how sorry she was. But she couldn’t stay on the phone forever.

**

“I would say this is one of the more unusual requests you’ve made of me while we search for Wade, Peter, but since you’ve made so few I’m at a loss to judge.” Nathan eyed Peter warily, taking the end of the leash as they stood outside Sister Margaret’s.

Peter rubbed his face. “It’s a joke, Nathan; I’m not allowed in except on a leash. Wade thought it was hysterical when Weasel said it after I broke someone’s arm.” Nathan stared at him and he sighed. “Look, it’s – the only person I know Wade never loses contact with is Weasel. Weasel hates me. I wanted backup.”

“I’m not certain I’m your best backup. I got him arrested once.”

Peter looked up at Nathan. “You did?”

Nathan shrugged. “It was Wade’s call.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that; he didn’t like the idea that Wade would have let his best friend get arrested, and at the same time he was kind of impressed Wade would have his best friend arrested as Wade’s moral compass was off-kilter at the best of times. 

He shook his head and shoved the door open, letting the noise settle over him as he stepped inside. “I’m on a leash!” Peter announced to the room.

“Oh, fuck,” said Weasel from behind the bar, but Peter couldn’t keep his attention on Weasel, as every weapon in the place was aimed in his direction. Spider-sense went so haywire he had an instant migraine.

“You brought him?!” screeched Weasel as Nathan stepped into the doorway behind Peter. Nearly half the weapons retrained from targeting Peter to aiming at Nathan, and Peter felt an absurd moment of pride that anyone kept weapons trained on him at all. He’d always thought Nathan made the far more imposing threat.

“Get out! Get out of here fucking now! I am not having this in my bar!”

“Look, I just want –”

Weasel came around the end of the bar at Peter. “Just get the hell out! Fuckit! Shoot them both! I don’t care, just don’t hit me!” he told the bar.

“Sleep,” Nathan said, his voice low but calm. No one had a chance to fire; everyone in the bar slumped over or fell where they stood, except for Weasel; he stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his hair, swearing. 

Peter pulled the leash out of Nathan’s hand and closed the door behind them both. “Weasel, I just wanted to say –”

Weasel stalked up to him, glaring the entire time. “Couldn’t you just fucking call me? Wouldn’t that work?”

“You hung up on me every time I’ve tried!”

“Because I don’t like you!”

“I don’t care!” Peter shouted. 

Nathan leaned against the wall, a hint of a smirk on his face as he watched.

Grabbing a gun from a nearby table, Weasel pointed it at Peter. “I mean it, I’ll shoot you myself.”

Webbing yanked it from his grasp. “Will you just stop? I’d be gone by now if you’d just fucking listen,” Peter told him.

“Fine! Fine! Just say whatever and get the hell out of my place! And you!” Weasel whirled on Nathan. “Stop smirking! You are even worse for Wade than that one is!” He stretched out an arm to point at Peter.

“Enough!” Peter got in between Nathan and Weasel. “Just shut up! My aunt’s dead. The viewing is tomorrow. The funeral will be the day after that. It’s at the assisted living’s religious center. Wade will know where that is.”

“That does no one any good! I haven’t heard from him!” Weasel glared into Peter’s face.

Behind Peter, Nathan tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly at Weasel. Neither Weasel nor Peter noticed his glance dart behind the bar, then back to Weasel.

“Fine. You’ve told me. Get the fuck out.”

Nathan unfolded from the wall. “Sleep.”

“A little warning!” Peter grabbed Weasel as he fell and lowered him to the floor. 

“He’s unharmed.” 

“Not exactly the point.” Peter surveyed the bar and shrugged. “How long are they going to sleep?”

“About ten minutes. We should go if you’ve done what you came for.”

They closed the door quietly behind them.

**

He had to open the medical cabinet and check everything was there. Then Peter replaced the sticky note on the mirror.

“Two more days.”

**

MJ was the only person he knew at Aunt May’s viewing hours. Everyone else who came were friends from the facility, sad people keeping watch over another of their own. They grieved with practice, used to comforting relatives in their space.

Both Nathan and MJ attended the funeral. Peter appreciated the gesture on Nathan’s part, given he’d never met Aunt May. It didn’t take long to get through; the same people from the assisted living, the same caretakers. Peter sat through the service with Nathan and MJ to either side of him, feeling some small comfort from their gesture mixed into the crushing emptiness. He couldn’t even bring himself to look around for Wade; he knew by now Wade wasn’t going to show up.

Outside, the sun shone brightly in a nearly cloudless sky. Peter glanced up as he got in the limo with MJ and laughed. 

“What?”

“Isn’t it supposed to rain at funerals?”

She shook her head at him. “It’s just weather.”

At the graveside, after he’d placed flowers on May’s coffin, attended solely by Nathan and MJ and one quiet, reserved representative from the assisted living place, he finally dared to look around. The faintest spark of hope that Wade was hidden behind a tree, or behind a car, or a tombstone. But there was nothing. Just to be sure, he caught Nathan’s eye and gave what he hoped was a questioning look, forming the words intently in his own mind. Nathan shook his head slightly.

Peter frowned and turned away. “Thank you all for coming,” he said. The representative from the facility shook Peter’s hand, said some harmless, empty words, and left. MJ led him to the rental she had. 

“Come on Peter. I’ll get you home. Nathan, are you coming?” she asked.

“I will catch up.”

Peter got into the car with MJ driving, without looking for Wade again.

**

An Uber pulled up after they left, and Weasel got out, looking around before heading for Nathan, still standing by the grave. “Come along, Weasel,” he said, heading for a small grove of trees. “I didn’t tell Peter you were on the phone with Wade the other day.”

“Why?” asked Weasel, panting as he strode after Nathan. 

He shrugged in response. “I think they are good for each other, but I am not convinced the relationship is salvageable, and I’m not sure I want to try more than I have.”

“You are a stone cold manipulative bastard. At least I can see what Wade sees in Peter. I have no fucking clue what he sees in you.”

Nathan merely smiled.

When they reached the grove, Wade stepped out from behind a tree trunk. “Is he okay?”

“You really ought to ask him yourself,” Nate said.

“Who the fuck cares?” Weasel answered at the same time.

“I can’t. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“So walk away, without, you know, fucking over everyone else in your life. Move to Chicago or San Francisco or Tokyo. Spider-Man never leaves New York. I can relocate the bar.” Weasel sounded practical. “Don’t just disappear like an asshole for three months and leave everyone hanging. You move, you never deal with his shit again.”

Nate shrugged. “Or you could try telling him you love him,” he said, ignoring Weasel’s glare. “He loves you, after all.”

“Yeah, I know, but he won’t say it.” Wade sighed. “I can’t live like that. And I can’t live not saying it to him, but he won’t let me.”

“I love you.” Nate’s statement was quiet and simple, although he didn’t quite meet Wade’s eyes as he said it.

“Yeah, I know, but you won’t touch me, let alone fuck me.” Wade sighed. “Peter will fuck me, but he won’t say he loves me, even if he does.” He looked at Weasel.

“Hell no, hard pass, solidly in the friends without benefits zone.”

Wade inclined his head at Weasel. “And you neither love me nor wish to fuck me. The only person who will touch me and say she loves me, I can’t stay dead long enough to keep a real relationship going. Death’s great when I’m there, but I’m all fucked up and can’t stay. Where the fucking hell does this leave me?”

Nate’s head snapped up, his eye glowing brighter for a moment. “Shit. I’ve miscalculated.” Weasel and Wade both straightened up, staring at him; Nate took to the sky, pulling Wade after him telekinetically. “No time to explain,” he shouted at Weasel before he sped them across the city.

**

Blood thinners.

Anticoagulants. 

Sleeping pills.

Needles.

Tubing.

Razor blades.

The bottles were empty now.

The bathtub was full of water and blood.

The lights were out.

Two letters waited on the table. One for Nathan. One for Wade, for when Nathan found him.

Peter drifted to sleep, listening to the sounds of the city, as the bathwater mixed with his blood.

**

“I didn’t think he’d try so soon; I thought there’d be time to see if you wanted to talk to him without worrying about this!” Nate’s tone was defensive, and Wade didn’t care. They raced up the steps to Peter’s apartment. “I knew he was suicidal but I didn’t catch he planned to do it right after the funeral. I’m sorry Wade, I didn’t know!”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Wade slammed the door open, breaking the lock in the process. The apartment was still and quiet, and dark; the only light was a glow around the curtains from the windows. “PETER!” he shouted, frantically throwing open doors as he searched.

Nate sat down on the couch, opening the letter with his name on it with more calm than he felt. Read it once.

_Thank you for your help. You’ve been a better friend than I deserved. I’m sorry we didn’t find him. Please give him the other letter._

Nathan picked up the other letter and held it, unopened, considering what to do, when he heard Wade scream.

**

“Peter! Peter!” Wade finally threw open the bathroom door. There was blood and water everywhere, empty pill bottles on the floor; and Peter in the tub, eyes closed, his expression blank. Frantic, Wade fell to his knees, trying to feel for a pulse, shouting at the top of his lungs for Nate to come help him.

Peter was so, so cold. 

Wade couldn’t feel a pulse.

It felt like his own world just stopped. Black spots swam in his vision. “No no no please no I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I love you don’t be dead PLEASE don’t fucking be dead,” he begged, running his hands over Peter’s hair, tears tracking down his face.

There was no answer.


	2. Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Nathan deal with Peter's attempted suicide after Aunt May's funeral.

Without letting go of Peter’s hand, without even realizing he was screaming, Wade drew one of his guns and shot himself in the head.

**

Nathan stood in the doorway of the bathroom and took in the scene: Peter, looking very pale and quiet in the bathtub; Wade, holding onto Peter and bleeding out.

“Well, fuck.”

**

He never knew what he’d find when he died. Sometimes it was an idyllic landscape, sometimes black emptiness. He’d been in palaces and bedrooms and absolute nothingness when in Death’s realm.

“PETER!” he screamed, running through a dark wood. There was no moon overhead and he spent a lot of time picking himself up as he tripped over tree roots and fallen branches. He felt certain the trees grew extra limbs and purposely entangled him. “PETER!”

Nothing answered him. Spent, he leaned into a tree. “Dammit, Death, where is he?” he whispered.

Silence. The only sound was his own intake of breath. 

He slid down the tree trunk and sprawled on the forest floor. It was hopeless. Peter was simply gone. He was too late. 

Wade had no idea how long he laid on the cold ground as the shadows around him deepened. With no moon or stars, it was impossible to tell the passage of time, not that time worked right in this place. “Dammit, you fucker, that was the deal. You died; I die. Right?” he asked and waited for an answer that didn’t come.

Angry, he climbed to his feet, and found himself facing Death. Her eyes were grim and foreboding as she watched him, silent, looming in the woods like an ancient goddess. 

“Please,” he begged, reaching out a hand tentatively for her.

“Never come to my realm searching for one of your mortal lovers again,” she said, and a chill settled deep in his bones as life claimed him again, pulling him away into the living world.

**

Wade opened his eyes to find himself laying on the coffee table and Peter wrapped in blankets on the couch, looking pale and cold. One of the needle and tube contraptions snaked under the blankets from Peter into Wade’s own arm. He looked at himself, confused, and then up at Nate. “Blood transfusion?”

Nate shrugged, turning a letter over in his hands. “I didn’t believe there was time to get him to a hospital. And your blood has healed others before. Copycat…me…”

“You said it would work with you because of your technovirus. And ‘Ness literally copies mutant abilities. Peter doesn’t have either of those. Just a spider bite.” Wade didn’t look up as he spoke, keeping his gaze on Peter. It took longer than he liked to see the shallow rise and fall of Peter’s chest, and the sight nearly made him cry with relief. “He’s not dead.”

“You would prefer I hadn’t tried anything?”

“No!” Wade shook his head.

Nate leaned back in his chair. “Well then.”

Wade took Peter’s hand in his. “Thank you, Nate.” With that, he closed his eyes and rested back against the coffee table. Waiting.

**

Everything hurt.

It wasn’t just pain; it was light and sound.

It was life.

Peter waited, but it didn’t go away. Nor did he manage to go back to the black darkness of nothing. He came to the conclusion he had to actually interact with the real world.

He opened his eyes. Looking around, he realized he was still in his apartment, although not in the bathtub anymore. On the couch. Living room. A tube and needle in his arm snaking off the couch and into…Wade?

“Wade?” he asked, trying to sit up. A hand held him in place, and he looked up and back to see Nathan holding him down. 

“Careful, Peter, you aren’t up to moving.”

“PET!”

Whether he was up to moving or not didn’t matter; Wade flung himself across the short distance from table to couch and crushed Peter into a hug. He couldn’t make out what Wade was saying, mumbled frantic phrases that didn’t make any sense.

“How are…what?” It was so hard to think. 

“Don’t do that to me again, dammit. I’m sorry I left. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get through to you. I was scared and confused and I couldn’t figure it out and nothing was real any more in my head. I didn’t mean it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Frowning, Peter managed to get a hand onto Wade’s head, running his fingers over the gnarled and knotted skin. “Wade.”

“Yes, Pet?” 

Licking his lips, Peter said, “You…left…”

“I know. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“You. Left.” It hurt so much to think. To breathe. 

It hurt to care.

He was just so damn tired.

“How many times…have you killed yourself since you left me?”

He watched Wade sit up, feeling the loss of his weight as an unbearable lightness. Watched Wade settle on the edge of the couch, watched him search for an answer. 

It was all the answer he needed. 

He turned away, looking at the back of the couch. “Go…away.”

“Pet?”

He’d never heard Wade sound so broken.

“I don’t care if it’s one or one hundred million. You die, I die too. But you can’t even give me that.” Peter didn’t look up as he spoke. All he wanted right now was for everyone to leave so he could try again. “Go away. I never want to see you again.”

“No! I’m not leaving again! I swear it, Pet, I’m not.”

Nathan shifted on the chair. “Yes, you are, Wade.”

“No!”

Peter tilted his head to look up at Nathan. “Thank you.”

An expression he couldn’t read crossed Nathan’s face. “We’ll see, Peter.” 

Sleep overtook him without warning, pulling him deep into soothing, calming darkness.

**

“The fuck, Nate?”

Sighing, Nate gathered Peter up. “He needs help. Help you can’t give him.” A tilt of his head unlocked the collar around Peter’s throat, floating it in front of Wade. “Take your collar and hope when he’s better he wants it back.”

Wade snatched it from the air and held it to his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

“He needs help from people who aren’t you and aren’t me, who can help him work through all the traumas and untangle them in his head. You can’t because you’re part of it, and I can’t because I’m involved too. He needs Charles.” Nate gave him a small smile. “Try to trust me, Wade.”

“You’re the asshole who knew he was suicidal and didn’t do anything to stop it!”

Nathan forbore to mention Wade knew it just as well. “I miscalculated the timing, but please remember Wade: I’m not usually wrong.”  
Nodding despite himself, Wade let him go.

**

The mansion always managed to look forbidding and inviting at the same time, Nathan thought as he landed in the courtyard, watching the front door open. “Charles.”

“Nathan.” His eyes tracked to Peter, held in Nathan’s arms. “Mr. Parker is looking a bit worse for the wear.”

“I misjudged some variables, but he lives.” As if it hurt to say, he asked, “Can you help him?”

“You know the answer, Nathan. We will try, but only if he wants it will our assistance be of any help.”

“But we will try,” said Kurt, coming to the door behind the Professor, reaching to take Peter from Nathan. 

Nathan nodded, and flew upwards, Wade’s unopened letter from Peter still in one of his pockets.

**

Wade stood in the apartment as the light dimmed with the sun’s setting, until he stood in darkness, tears streaming down his face, the Deadpool collar still clutched in his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline  
> Call 1-800-273-8255
> 
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/index.shtml
> 
> If you are considering suicide, or know someone who is, please call the hotline. If you want information on suicide prevention and common signals of potential suicide, the above link is a good starting resource.

**Author's Note:**

> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline  
> Call 1-800-273-8255
> 
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/index.shtml
> 
> If you are considering suicide, or know someone who is, please call the hotline. If you want information on suicide prevention and common signals of potential suicide, the above link is a good starting resource.
> 
> I found my sister's suicide note when we were in high school. I told my parents. They got her counseling. She told me she'd already decided not to go through with it, and she was mad at me for telling our parents.
> 
> I've never once regretted what I did.
> 
> She has a semi-colon on her wrist now, and I still have a sister.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_Semicolon


End file.
